


The Spaces Between

by AceOfFates



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Strangers to Friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22014301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfFates/pseuds/AceOfFates
Summary: Roxas is tired of silence.
Relationships: Roxas/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	The Spaces Between

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO XI whom is my secret santa recipient! this is only chapter one so i hope you enjoy it ;;; if i don't finish this in like two weeks you have my permission to take me out back like Ol' Yeller.
> 
> NOW ONWARDS.

Some places are filled with laughter; happiness, joy that flows like a river filling in the gaps and moving us ever forward. Some places are filled with screaming; anger, sadness that shatters like waves against a rocky shore; an unending barrage that propels in a direction we may have never considered.

Some places are filled with silence. It sits like a sheet of ice, freezing us in a time, a place, a moment not of our choosing. The antithesis to noise, to the reminder that you're not alone. It echoes an absence like a ghost. What would normally be background noise is suddenly too loud in contrast to the quiet. The sound of a knife scraping across a plate like nails on a chalkboard. Running water from the tap a waterfall. A glass shattering on the floor a cacophony of noise that only serves to amplify the silence that comes after. It wears at you, hanging from your shoulders like broken wings, leaves you only able to remember a time when the empty spaces around you were filled with something else. It makes you tired.

Roxas is tired of the silence.

-

The sky over Twilight Town is a dark bruised purple, clouds threatening to open up in a blizzard at any given moment. Roxas taps his foot against the group trying to spend some of his restless energy while he waits. Pictures scroll by on his phone, nothing keeping his attention for too long until a push notification pops up.

> **Hayner** \- sooo has the dude shown up yet?
> 
> **Roxas ** \- plane just landed.
> 
> **Hayner ** \- and ur sure hes not gonna kill you?
> 
> **Roxas** \- i’m still not sure you wont tbh
> 
> **Hayner** \- thats cold
> 
> **Hayner** \- dont come crying to me when u find him standing over ur bed with a knife
> 
> **Roxas** \- he’s nam’s friend.
> 
> **Hayner** \- shes in on it
> 
> **Roxas** \- i’m telling her you think she’s a willing accessory to murder
> 
> **Roxas ** \- screenshot0132.jpg
> 
> **Hayner** \- OH
> 
> **Hayner** \- u didnt tell me he was hot
> 
> **Hayner** \- carry on

Roxas shakes his head, beginning to type a reply when someone clears their throat. Roxas looks up and locks eyes with the same person from the screenshot he’d just sent Hayner. Same dark tanned skin, rich brown hair and blue eyes. His gaze flicks from the man standing in front of him to his phone a couple of times just to be sure.

“Hi! You’re Roxas, right?” He asks brightly, with a smile that if the sun was shining it would probably reflect off of.

Roxas hastily pockets his phone, it buzzes once dejectedly but Hayner will have to wait, and holds out his hand for a handshake. “Yeah! It’s good to finally meet you Sora.”

“Oh thank god,” he says and his expression relaxes, a look of relief as he takes Roxas’ hand. “I was so worried I was just accosting some random person.”

Roxas snorts. Truth be told, Lea has told him that he has a doppleganger wandering around the city but Roxas isn’t sure how much stock he puts into anything Lea says.

“C’mon, let’s get your stuff in the car.”

Roxas takes one of Sora’s suitcases and leads him over to the parking lot where Roxas’ old beater of a car sits. Overhead the sky finally opens up, releasing a light flurry of large fluffy snowflakes that immediately get stuck in Sora’s hair. He laughs while batting at his hair and for a moment Roxas is struck by the sound and sight.

“I guess I’ll need some warmer clothes,” Sora says through the last vestiges of his chuckles. Roxas can see the warmth on his cheeks and his smile is the most genuine thing he’s seen. Suddenly he wishes he’d brought his camera.

He swallows down the thought and tries to concentrate on getting them both safely to the apartment. The roads are etched into his mind, streets packed with people trying to go home early before the snow gets too bad. Sora chats amiably about the different buildings, statues he catches glimpses of in the parks. Roxas fills in with what knowledge he has wherever he can, history spilling out like an overflowing cup as he talks about the urban legend of the underground tunnels, or the age old tradition that was the struggle competitions.

Roxas’ apartment building is an old stonework beast that had had a sleeker more modern highrise added on top. The first five floors showcased the old, Twilight Town before it had become a bustling city, a testament to a time long passed and a piece of history that refused to be forgotten. The clunky nature of the building gave way to straight, sleek lines on top. Glass that illuminates in the orange evening light, though right now it only reflected the sterling white of the snow that was only going to pick up.

Roxas uses his shoulder to push open the heavy front door to his apartment while saying over his shoulder, “it gets a little sticky in the winter; but it should open with a little work, no problem.”

He gives Sora a quick tour, showing him where everything was in the kitchen, the washing machine and dryer. In the living room Sora lingers over the strings pinned to the wal over the side table, each string adorned with printed photos and a couple polaroids Roxas had taken over the years.

“Wow! Naminé said you were good at photography but these are really nice!” Sora exclaims while looking at the photo Roxas had taken to commemorate when Hayner had finally won a struggle tournament.

Roxas comes up beside Sora to look at his display. While he’s happy for the compliment, most of them weren’t his best work technically. There were photos from various parties Olette had dragged him, Hayner and Pence to; taken through the lense of a shoddy phone camera. There were photos from struggle tournaments and their various aftermaths; faces adorned with milkshake mustaches during victory dinners at the local 24 hour diner. The ones that were taken with any sort of artistic approach were the polaroids; Naminé sketching at a café table, Pence and Olette overlooking the seawall at sunset, there’s one of the clocktower jutting out against a deep orange sky.

They’re not his most technically perfect pictures but they are all his favourites.

"That's, uh, everything. I'll just be in my room and you can unpack," Roxas says with one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Sora nods, eyes still roving over the collection of photos and Roxas leaves him to it.

-

He's almost finished editing his latest set of wedding photos when he notices an ache forming behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly, clearing the spots in his vision and taking on the long shadows cast along the floor. According to his computer it's almost 8pm.

Roxas yawns, stretching out and getting a satisfying pop from his back. He's been editing without pause for nearly four hours now, no wonder his head has started to ache. There’s a low gurgle from his stomach that alerts Roxas that he hasn’t eaten since before he picked Sora up from the airport. He supposes it’d be rude not to offer Sora any food after he’s come all this way. Here’s hoping Sora didn’t get any food already himself.

The living room is dark when Roxas opens his door, illuminated only by the reflection of streetlamps from down below off the steadily falling snow. A single slanted column of light spills onto the floor from where the other bedroom is cracked open. Everything is silent. Frozen, as if he's just walked into one of his photographs. 

He pulls in a shuddering breath just to hear the sound. The apartment has been silent for a long time now; the dark a comforting presence of its own. It’s the light that has Roxas stepping back. The evidence of another living person- their apartment used to be filled with life and light at all times. Now the slender bracket that cuts through the shadows reminds him of a closing door, a missed opportunity, a failure. If he could just walk across the room, chase down that waning light- if they could just _ talk _ about it then maybe- maybe-

He’s halfway to raising his fist to knock, heart caught in his throat and eyes open but not truly seeing, when the door swings open. He meets a slightly confused blue gaze, blue but lighter- not the blue he was expecting and it all comes crashing down.

“Oh! Roxas! You alright?” Sora recovers quickly from his surprise, lit from behind by the warm yellow light that lights his hair up like a halo.

Roxas still has his fist held up like an idiot. He hastily pulls it back, running it through his hair instead and pushing a breath between his clenched teeth.

“I’m fine. I was just going to ask if you wanted to get something to eat?” Maybe if Roxas ignores the fact he’d been caught up in a memory for a second there Sora won’t comment on it.

“Oh, yeah! That’s what I was gonna do, actually. I wasn’t sure if you were busy so I was just gonna. Explore,” Sora with a chuckle that has a slightly nervous edge to it. But he looks at Roxas with a soft expression, relaxed and without judgement. He isn’t going to press, thank god.

“Nah, I was just editing photos. Didn’t mean to get so caught up. C’mon I know a place with the best milkshakes.”

“Milkshakes? It’s the middle of winter!” Sora laughs and it’s a real laugh this time. It reverberates around the walls of Roxas’ chest apartment and fills the yawning canyon.

Just a little bit.

-

Sunny Side’s Diner was a squat building sat between two imposing skyscrapers. The sign a bright halogen orange that belonged directly in the 50s. Inside the floor was vinyl checkered tiles, a countertop that was painted aqua blue and seats that adhered to your thighs in the middle of summer. Everything was rounded off, no hard edges as opposed to the monoliths of modern design that bracketed it on either side. The owner was a grizzley of a man, but the kind of person who stuck to his guns. “Don’t fix what ain’t broke,” he’d told Roxas once in highschool when he’d asked why they didn’t just sell the place; or at least update it.

Sora whistles when they walk through the door, taking in the vintage artwork on the walls and the outdated vinyl print on the tabletops. They’re the only customers in the diner when they sit down, an old school rock and roll song floats out from the tinny speakers.

Despite his protests of the cold and snow, Roxas manages to convince Sora to try one of the milkshakes while he pours over the menu. Roxas turns his head to look out the window, watching the snow pile up on someone’s poor abandoned bike. There’s about a foot of it now, more piled up on the edges of the sidewalk and road to keep them clear.

“Okay, I know what I want,” Sora announces, slapping the menu down on the tabletop.

Roxas raises an eyebrow.

“Chicken strips and fries,” Sora says, giving the waitress a cocky smile. She smiles back, giving him a wink while scribbling in her notepad.

“The usual for you?” She asks after sticking the note paper with Sora’s order up on the line.

“Come here often?” Sora teases.

“I’m not the one who ordered _ chicken strips _,” Roxas retorts- which gets Sora to laugh again. Roxas has only really known Sora for a handful of hours, not even since he spent most of his afternoon focused on working, but Roxas gets the impression that Sora’s quick to laughter. Someone who can find enjoyment in any situation.

“Hey, chicken strips are serious business! They’re the measure by which any restaurant can be judged,” Sora says solemnly with the most serious expression he can apparently muster. The ridiculousness of the situation hits Roxas then and he’s snickering. Then chuckling. Sora’s expression cracks and then they’re both laughing into their milkshakes.

Roxas had been worried when Naminé first suggested that he take on a roommate, even temporarily. The apartment had been empty, silent, for so long; Roxas had thought after Xion left that he could just get used to it. He wasn’t dealing with it as well as he’d thought, apparently, if Naminé had gently taken his hand from across the table and told him that everyone was worried about him.

He really hadn’t been sure about it at first. Taking on a temporary roommate over the holidays. She’d insisted it would be good, and if things didn’t work out it was only for a month. Sora didn’t have to stay.

As they chat while waiting for their food Roxas can’t help but feel like he’s known Sora his entire life. The words flow in between them, topics moving on gracefully from one to the next in natural progression. Roxas talks about the time he did the promotional photos for a local production of _ Grease _right here in the diner; Sora talks about growing up on Destiny Islands and the trouble he used to get in to regularly as a kid.

Sora could talk for hours, it seems. He lights up the room better than any LCD light bulb and Roxas catches both the waitress and another patron who’s come in listening raptly to their (now one sided) conversation. Roxas doesn’t mind. He lets the words overflow between them, nodding along and asking questions when needed.

The conversation lasts well into after the meal is over and back to the apartment. They enter the threshold of the cold, empty apartment laughing. Sora lightly nudges Roxas with his elbow and thanks him for dinner before retreating into his room; leaving Roxas in the afterglow of their laughter. Still echoing off the walls in his mind but steadily fading with every beat.

Roxas’ gaze roves over the space. Back to being still and silent. But a slant of light spilling out from under the second bedroom door reminds him: no longer empty.


End file.
